Everything I do
by AnyS
Summary: Saving his father’s life Legolas gets horribly injured. Will Thranduil be able to save his son’s life in return? And what will Elrond and Glorfindel do to help him? (Note: Elrohir and Elladan-action!) NO SLASH!
1. Chapter 1 Fighting orcs

**Everything I do…**

**by**Any

**Summary: **Saving his father's life Legolas gets horribly injured. Will Thranduil be able to get over his own troubled past in order to make a decision that might save his son's life? And what will Elrond, Glorfindel and the twins do to save them both when a former ally of the wood-elves turns against their friends from Mirkwood? 

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. It's all Tolkien's! *sniff* No money is made out of this. Oh, hey, wait, actually I own something! Sel, Hador and, well, all the other guys that are not recognizable from LOTR! Yeah, they're all mine! *does little happy dance* Please ask first before using them, thanks! I know Sel and Hador are nice but, sorry, ladies, they're mine and I'll not let them go thaaat easily! *lol*

**Rating:** R (for more or less detailed battle scenes, death, torture and all the other "fun stuff" especially in later chapters) 

**Series:** Yes, Sequel to "Father and Son". You don't have to read it to understand this story here though. 

**Spoilers:** Not really, maybe for "Father and Son", but, mhm, no, not really. 

**A/N: **I don't think this actually ever happened in Tolkien's world. But it could have. Like so many other things. Hehe. I'm not an expert concerning the geography of Middle Earth or the timeline of everything that has ever happened in Tolkien's world, so if you think the story- or timeline or locations or else don't fit and/or you think Master Tolkien would turn in his tomb if he'd read this, I'm sorry, please forgive me! May I mention the phrase "poetic licence" at this point? ;))

As Tolkien hasn't given us a concrete date of birth for Legolas I am not sure if the timeline I've chosen for this story is correct. After a lot of research I believe Legolas is younger than most people seem to think. I definitely don't agree to Peter Jackson's suggestion that Legolas is more than 2000 years old when he joins the fellowship. From what I have read I assume he is only around 600 years old when he joins Frodo on his quest. Therefore he must have been born sometime around the end of The Watchful Peace. To make things easier for myself I decided to his year of birth to be TA 2450. I totally disclaim this to be correct, mind you!!! :) So, considering this he is around 320 years old, when this story here takes place, so he's quite young in elven standards, probably around 20 in human standards.

As Tolkien didn't give us any information about Legolas' mother or any siblings, either, there's much space for speculations. Thank God, hehe :). For my stories I've chosen Legolas to be an only child and I decided that his mother was killed by orcs when he was very young. I know it's cruel, but please, don't blame or flame me! It's completely the plot bunny's fault! I'd also like to add that I probably will not keep that set-up should I write further fanfic. It all depends on the plot bunnies… ;) But for this series it will all be the same, of course.

English is not my native language – so, if you find major grammar mistakes or typos or else, I'd be very grateful if you'd let me know… :)

And now, to the story!

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**Chapter 1 – Fighting orcs**

Legolas gritted his teeth as the orc's scimitar collided with his elegantly curved blade and his right arm strained painfully under the incredible force of the blow. He quickly crossed the blade in his left hand with the other one using the momentum of the move to shove his opponent away. The orc grunted in protest, baring his foul brown teeth and advanced him again, but Legolas was quick and he more or less slit the beast in two halves as soon as he lifted his scimitar over his own head in an attempt to hit Legolas down from above, foolishly leaving his belly unprotected for the elven warrior to attack.

Legolas stumbled forward a bit as the orc fell backwards and he groaned involuntarily realizing for the first time since the battle had started how exhausted he was. He glimpsed to his right, searching the battle field but all he could see was endless chaos. Elves and men were fiercely fighting orcs and wargs, bodies of all kind covered the ground, where blood mingled with rain, leaving it muddy and slippery. Thick clouds hung in the starless night's dark sky and the cold breeze blowing through the valley sent shivers down the spine of the rain soaked elf.

They had been fighting for hours now and still there seemed to be no end to the battle. Legolas took a deep breath and sighed as a hint of despair flashed through him, but in years of constantly fighting the minions of the dark power he had learnt to cast such feelings aside as soon as they flared up inside of him. So he moved on, facing his next opponents. 

Noticing that the elves and men on his left side were slowly but surely gaining upper hand over their foes he swiftly ran to the right side of the battling scene, killing orc after orc on his way, unconsciously still looking for something he himself did not exactly know of what it was. 

On the other side of the field wargs had encircled a group of six men, snarling dangerously at them, foul-smelling saliva dripping from their bloody jaws in the thrilling anticipation of their next kill. The men shifted nervously, back on back, their swords at the ready. 

Legolas moved across the war ground and his experienced mind realized instantly that the encircled men were in need of help. They seemed to be unaware, however, that they would most likely not stand a chance should the wargs decide to jump on them. Legolas sheathed his blades, took his bow and started firing arrow after arrow. Two wargs fell dead immediately while the remaining eight howled in pain as each of them were hit by one of Legolas' arrows. They turned their attention to the shooting elf, who had fully intended to make them do exactly that! The distraction was all the men needed and they swung their swords at the foul beasts, cutting off heads, slicing throats, killing them all in less than two minutes.

Legolas locked eyes with one of the men for a moment and the human nodded his thanks, though almost imperceptibly. The elf could not suppress a rather self-satisfied smile as he saw the disgust in the man's eyes. Obviously he did not like the idea that they had needed the help of a firstborn to get rid of the beasts. As the man saw the smirk on Legolas' face he snorted in rage, turned away and hurried to another group of men who were fighting ten rather large orcs.

The Prince was brought back to his senses as he felt the air whizzing over his head when he instinctively ducked the blow of an orc behind him. He whirled around, drawing one blade in the movement and sliced the orc's throat. In the corner of his eye he caught glimpse of a green cloak blowing in the wind at the upper area of the field, and he knew instantly he had found what he had been looking for all the time. He turned around and his heart almost stopped at the sight that greeted him. 

Three giant orcs were closing in on a lone elf, swinging their scimitars at him from every side. The elf seemed to be injured as he cradled his left arm against his own chest and ducked, blocking a particular deadly blow with the sword in his good hand. 

Legolas did not need see more. He took his bow again and notched an arrow. He almost fired but the fighting enemies changed their positions and he had to adjust his aim in order not to shoot the elf. His heart quickened at the thought – he had been too close for comfort to shooting his own kin. As soon as he had a free line he shot the orc at the back of the other elf, then notched his next arrow and shot the one at his right side with lethal precision. He reached behind himself to get another arrow but his hand only found thin air. He had run out of arrows! Without second thought he broke into a frantic sprint to reach the other elf, who was already swaying dangerously, still paring every blow of the remaining orc but obviously growing more and more tired with each attack.

Legolas was choked with horror as he saw the elf stumble sideways and lose his sword at the next blow of the orc, sinking to his knees as his legs no longer wanted to carry him.

The orc snarled triumphantly, raising his scimitar to land his final blow on the elf who bravely braced himself to meet his death, as Legolas did the only thing he could think of.

He threw himself in the line of the down coming scimitar, a desperate cry escaping his mouth.

"Adar! No!"

Then darkness claimed him.

tbc…


	2. Chapter 2 Healers

**Disclaimer: **See chapter 1, please.****

**Please also note the updated A/N etc.**

**Thanks for your reviews! **:) Place, date and reason of the fight will be revealed in chapter 3, which will be a rather large one, I promise! But now let's have a little look at "adar"…

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**Chapter 2 – Healers**

Thranduil willed his racing heart to slow down. He would die, but he would not die as a weak, whimpering coward, oh no. He squared his shoulders and took a deep steadying breath, preparing himself for the lethal blow he would receive any second. Despite his severely injured left arm, his blood stained, rain soaked cloak and the splashes of blood and mud on his fair face and in his wet hair, he looked every bit the proud warrior King of Mirkwood he was.

The orc in front of him snarled triumphantly but not without a slight hint of rage for not seeing any fear in his opponent's face and raised his scimitar. Out of the corner of his left eye Thranduil saw something green brown flying in his direction, but he was too occupied with facing his own death to realize what it was. 

He bravely stared at the orc and saw the scimitar coming down towards him with unstoppable speed, but suddenly it was as if it moved in slow motion. There was a voice that sounded vaguely familiar, crying something, but Thranduil could not care less to listen. Out of nothing something heavy but still soft hit him to the ground, making his head swim in pain. In his dizzy state he caught glimpse of something golden that looked incredible like blond hair but before he could recognize what it was, the piercing pain in his left arm and in his head finally knocked him out. 

The lethal blow never came.

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He started with a soft moan and slowly opened his eyes. He felt something soft beneath him that felt like a bed but his vision was too clouded to see where he was. His head and left arm throbbed so badly he could not think clearly anyway. And yet he felt unexpectedly warm and comfortable. He blinked several times to focus his vision and finally could make out a grey form leaning over him.

"Finally! He is awake." He heard the form say. But he did not know the voice.

"My Lord?" Came the next voice, sounding rather familiar, and someone gently grabbed his good arm. He blinked again and saw one of his warriors weakly smiling down on him.

"Hador… what…?" Thranduil tried to sit up, but the warrior gently pushed him back down into the soft pillows.

"My Lord, please, you are injured..." Hador said and pulled the blanket the king was covered with back up to Thranduil's chin.

"King Thranduil, how do you feel?" The other voice asked, and Thranduil turned his head to see who it was. 

He did not know the man before him, but the concerned look on his weathered face, the blood stained apron he wore – and obviously had not cleaned for quite some time as the blood on it was black, dry – and the experienced manner with which he searched Thranduil's wrist for a pulse gave away that he must be a healer. Irritating, however, was the fact that he was a human healer.

Confused the king looked around the small room that was only lit by a fire in a hearth to his right and two candles on each side of the bed he lay in.

"Where am I?" Thranduil asked, and despite Hador's disapproving looks and half-hearted attempts to push him back down again he sat up.

"You are in the healer's hood, in a settlement near Carrock, my Lord. You had been brought here after the battle." The warrior answered while the healer quickly made up a draught for the injured elf.

"The battle." Thranduil murmured thoughtfully. "So, is it over yet? Were we successful then?" He asked, rubbing his pounding forehead briefly before he took the mug the healer offered him.

"Yes, my Lord. All wargs had been slain and what remained of the orcs had fled." Hador explained, unconsciously straightening his broad chest proudly.

"My Lord, may I speak and add on behalf of all of my people that we are most grateful for your assistance in this." The man smiled, and Thranduil nodded, accepting the thanks. He drank the draught thirstily despite having to squeeze his eyes shut at the bitter taste.

He looked up and handed the empty mug back to the healer. He tilted his head slightly to glance at Hador again. As he saw the other elf's haunted eyes, a sudden thought flashed through his mind – a thought too fast to get hold of yet, but certainly one of some importance. He pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to concentrate. What did he want to ask?

"How many casualties?" He demanded to be filled in on after a while, but still he felt that this was not exactly what he wanted to know. Something was amiss here. But what?

"Five men are dead, sixteen injured, but only three of them a bit seriously." Hador answered, took a deep breath as if to add something but did not speak any further. Thranduil eyed him carefully. _He is hiding something!_ He thought.

"How many elves?" Thranduil asked, fixing Hador with his stern gaze. The warrior did not move, but his eyes dropped to the floor.

"One injured, my Lord." He replied hoarsely.

"Only one? And none dead?" Thranduil wanted to know, sounding a bit surprised.

"Yes, my Lord. None dead." _Not yet,_ Hador mentally added and grew sad. 

He looked up at his king, and they locked eyes, Thranduil's grey-blue orbs searching the warrior's bright grey depths. There was a minute of silence, and Thranduil felt a strong foreboding tugging on his mind, but he still did not know what exactly troubled him. He broke the eye contact – much to Hador's relief – and looked around the room as if he would find the answer written on one of the walls.

He glanced at the man, then once again at the elf and one more time around the empty room. And then it hit him like an orc's scimitar. Someone else should be here, too. Considering that he was injured and knowing the other's usually overprotective attitude, most certainly he should be here! – And would be here if he could. 

"Where is Legolas?" He asked as calmly as possible, but his heart quickened in fearful anticipation. Hador drew in a sharp breath and adjusted his stance, clearly distressed. How could you possibly tell a father that his son lay dying in the room next door?

"Where is my son?" Thranduil spat out, already tossing the blanket aside and swinging his legs out of the bed. He held his breath.

"My Lord, Prince Legolas is in the room next door." Hador finally answered.

"Is he… is he the one injured?" Thranduil asked, swallowing down the lump in his throat, while he threw on a tunic the healer had given him as soon as he stood.

"Yes, my Lord. I am very sorry, my Lord." Hador replied with a small voice, a sad sigh escaping his mouth.

Thranduil did not need hear more. He was already out of the room, halfway down the corridor, as the healer grabbed him by the sleeve and held him back.

"My Lord, if I may say something? Your son is in no condition to see visitors. He needs rest. Just as you do. You should not go in there." The healer said, his voice faltering. He knew he was getting onto shaky ground for the elven king's wrath was well known even beyond the borders of his realm. 

And if looks could kill the human would have dropped dead to the floor this very second.

"That merely makes me all the more determined to see him – right now!" Thranduil boomed and rushed down the small hall to the only other door that was there.

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The king flung open said door, slamming it into the wall behind it, and the three persons inside of the room jumped to their feet in surprise. Taking no heed of them Thranduil strode straight up to the only bed in the chamber and stopped dead in his tracks at a short distance from the bed as he saw Legolas.

His son's face was more than ashen, dark circles under his closed eyes making him look like an old man. His breathe was so shallow, one could hardly see if he was breathing at all. Sweat covered every visible inch of his body, the undershirt he wore and the blanket over and the sheet beneath him were soaked wet. A thick, red yet neatly stitched gash ran down from the middle top of his head across the upper area of his brow down to his left temple. The left side of Legolas' face was so swollen it looked like as if it would burst into pieces at any second. The most shocking thing about his looks however was that the injured side of Legolas' head was – shaved! His beautiful golden hair – simply gone! 

Thranduil swayed, staring at his son in pure horror. Someone pressed him down on a chair near to the bed Legolas lay in. He could not breathe.

"What happened?" He gasped. He realized that someone moved to stand in front of him, then kneeling down before him, but he could not tear his eyes off of his son's face.

"He was hit on the head very hard by an orc, my Lord." The person in front of him explained the obvious with a gentle, sad voice. Thranduil finally moved his eyes and looked straight into the fair face of another one of his warriors – Selmacas, or Sel as Legolas and most of the warrior's friends used to call him, captain of Mirkwood's palace sentries.

"How… how bad is it?" The king asked hoarsely, frantically searching the other elf's face for a hint that there was still hope for his son. But Sel avoided his gaze and gestured someone else who stood behind Thranduil's chair to step forward and speak.

Thranduil turned his head and looked up – into two identical faces. 

"Elrohir!" He cried in surprise, jumping to his feet. "Elladan!"

…to be continued…

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Sorry about the confusion about Hador/Sel in a former version of this chapter! – I switched their positions during revising this chapter but apparently was too tired to do it properly *lol* - Sorry! And a big thank you to Cheysuli for noticing it and letting me know!!! :)


	3. Chapter 3 Painful memories

**Disclaimer: **See chapter 1

**Beta: **Trinka, thank you so much for your support and friendship! :)

**A/N: **Sorry, my faithful readers, it took me so long to update. RL was tough in the recent months, I simply didn't have time to write. Had to work overtime like you wouldn't believe it! Thanks for your patience and understanding!

And now on with the story… even if you'll still have to wait for real action and longer chapters… I promise I'll write more as soon as my RL job gets a little bit less stressful!

**Chapter 3 – Painful memories**

Thranduil was so surprised, and in some strange way relieved to see the twins from Imladris, that he forgot all formalities and clasped forearms with each elf in a warrior's greeting before they could so much as move to bow.

"What brings the two sons of Elrond here?" the king asked, forcing a polite smile on his lips that did not reach his eyes. "I thought you would be awaiting us in Imladris?"

"My Lord, we were in Caras Galadhon visiting our sister," Elladan explained, "when word reached us from our father that you and Legolas would join us on the hunting trip with Lord Glorfindel next week. We decided to ride to meet you so we could travel to Imladris together."

"But how did you find us here?" Thranduil interrogated, still struck by the surprise.

"We made camp not far from the bridge of the Old Forest Road in hopes of catching you on your way across the river," Elladan continued. "There, orcs fleeing southwards from the Northeast happened upon us. We decided to avoid a fight because we were not well-rested and there were too many for the two of us. We shot as many as we could from a safe distance, and then crossed the river and went further down the route we thought you would come. But we could find neither tracks of your party on either side of the Anduin nor any along the Road, although you should have reached the bridge ahead of us... at least according to Adar's letter. Some of the orcs had been injured, so we knew they had been involved in a battle earlier. We were afraid the band might have attacked you, so we followed their tracks back. That was how we found the battle field. One of the men seeing to the dead told us that both of you had been wounded and had been brought here. We came here three nights ago."

"Three nights ago?" Thranduil furrowed his brow. "Selmacas, have I been unconscious for such a long time?" He shot his warrior a dark glance over his shoulder.

"Yes, my Lord. You had lost a lot of blood, and the orc's scimitar with which you and Prince Legolas had been wounded was poisoned. You were running a high fever, and we had to sedate you to keep you from hurting yourself further."

"Legolas and I were wounded by the same orc?" Thranduil's features darkened more and more with each further piece of information. He saw Sel bite his lip and knew that the warrior was hiding something. Though he could not remember the last minutes of the fight in their entirety, realization slowly dawned on him and his heart quickened in anticipation.

Sel groaned inwardly. He had not intended to let the conversation run to such a point - loathed to telling the king exactly what had happened at the battle field. He knew Thranduil would only blame himself for the "incident" and that would do him no good in his weakened state of health.

"Selmacas, I want you to tell me what happened, every detail, now!" the king ordered sharply after a moment of awkward silence. He did not like it when his advisors, warriors and sometimes even his son tried to keep things away from him. He was not an old weak dodderer that had to be spared.

"My Lord, you were wounded. The orc was about to slay you and...well...Legolas must have seen that you were injured, had lost your sword and could no longer defend yourself, so he placed himself between you and the orc, and..."

"Took the blow, meant for me," Thranduil finished.

"Yes, my Lord. I am sorry. I have failed you. I know I should have looked after him, but in the heat of the clash we had been driven apart. I was too far away. I could not do anything, my Lord. Forgive me."

"There is no need to apologize, Selmacas." The king's face was pale and graved from the deep sorrow and guilt in his heart.

Cautiously he sat down on the edge of the bed and took his son's cold right hand in his own. "Legolas is no longer an elfling and there's no need to mother him, even not in battle." He paused. "If there's someone to blame here, it is me. I should have known better. He has always been overprotective of me since childhood on; since his naneth was killed."

He shook his head ever so slightly and smiled bitterly, staring down on Legolas' pale face. Elrohir stepped forward and laid a soothing hand on the father's shoulder.

Thranduil heaved a long sigh. "I should have never led him into this battle with me. I was a fool. I should have known he would watch over me rather than take care of himself."

Thranduil was overwhelmed by the odd mixture of gratefulness, love and guilt that swapped through him. He buried his face in his right hand and sighed, fighting back the horrifying memories that slowly crept back from the darkest corner of his mind into his consciousness.

"My Lord… - …Uncle Thranduil…" Elrohir squeezed the elder elf's shoulder sympathetically. He had known the elder elf all his life, and to see the usual strong and proud king in such a misery pained him. Even though they were not related by blood, the Mirkwood Royals were like an extended family to the twins - Thranduil like an uncle and Legolas like a cousin...no, even like a little brother. And both knew from their own experience how overprotective Legolas could be where those dear to him were concerned.

The younger elf had witnessed the murder of his mother and so it was only natural that he never wanted to see such a thing ever happen again to anyone he loved. Many years ago, the twins had once laughed about the seriousness with which the young novice – a 40 years old Legolas - had approached his role as a warrior so many years ago. But a few years later, fate struck a cruel blow, and tragically Elrohir and Elladan also learned first hand how it felt to lose one's mother. Celebrián had been kidnapped by orcs and hurt so terribly – her body as well as her soul – that she had sailed across the Sea to the West - to Valinor - to find peace of soul again. From that day on the two brothers shared the same pain and sorrow that Legolas carried in his heart, and because of it, their friendship had deepened.

"My Lord," Sel interjected, "Legolas wanted to help these people as much as you did, you know that. He urged you to help them. You must not blame yourself. He would not want you to."

Thranduil inhaled deeply, willing his confused emotions to settle down. He knew Selmacas was right. Legolas had begged him to help these people, and as soon as Thranduil had seen the hope and trust in the men's eyes as they saw the firstborn riding into their village he could have not denied them aid anymore.

"Will he live?" he hoarsely asked, turning his throbbing head to look up at Elrohir.

"He is strong. There is still hope." Elrohir wished he could simply say 'yes', but he had never seen someone injured as horribly as Legolas, and he did not even dare to think about what effects the injury might show if Legolas would ever awake.

"Tell me everything, Elrohir Elrondion. How are his chances to live?" Thranduil pierced the younger elf with his gaze. He would not accept any beating about the bush.

Elrohir sighed. "His skull is broken and he had a cerebral haemorrhage. We had to open his head to remove the blood and secretion from the injury because it was adding too much pressure on his brain... and because he had severe seizures from it. We do not know how bad his brain injury really is, because it is swollen, and so could not make out how deep the cut is. I think the true severity of the injury will only show if… w-when he awakes. The bleeding has stopped though. But even his smaller wounds – mere cuts and scratches – have not healed properly yet, most likely because of the orc's poison. We have done everything we could, but the human's healer is not as experienced or wise as our Adar, and unfortunately, neither are we." He tilted his head in Elladan's direction.

"We would have sent a messenger to Imladris to get Adar here, but the weather is so terrible that it is impossible to cross the mountains. Unfortunately these people here have no carrier hawks," Elladan completed.

"What about Radagast? Has anyone been sent to Rhosgobel? Radagast could send a hawk or even one of the gwaihir to Imladris," Thranduil suggested hastily.

"We have thought of that, too. But Radagast is not at home. We assume he has been summoned to a meeting with Curunír. Our daernaneth told us that Mithrandir had been in Lórien some time before we arrived there and that he was on his way to meet all the other Istari in Orthanc. We have sent word to daernaneth, but the storm will, no doubt, slow the messenger down. Let us hope he will make it there in good time so daernaneth can send word to Adar or even come here herself. But we have no idea how long that will take…" Elladan held his hands out in a surrendering gesture. They had tried everything, thought of every opportunity to get help, but at the moment there was nothing they could do but wait, pray and hope.

Thranduil nodded understandingly. He was grateful that the sons of Elrond had taken such good care of everything. These two, especially Elrohir, had learned a great deal about the healing arts from their father, and Thranduil was relieved that at least the sons of the famous healer were here. Tiredly the king rubbed his face with one slender hand and sighed again.

"My Lord, I think it would be best if you would go and rest. You are not fully recovered yet. I will inform you immediately should Legolas so much as blink. Elladan, go and see to our horses, please. There is a rainstorm raging and I do not want them to stay outside. I will stay with Legolas. Sel, maybe you could show King Thranduil to the other room and send the men's healer to me," Elrohir instructed everybody, and he looked amazingly like his father at that moment.

Selmacas, who had kept quiet during the whole exchange, nodded and approached Thranduil, but the king waved at him to stop.

"I will not leave my son's side," Thranduil stated calmly, his sorrow evident in his eyes.

"Well, all right then," Elrohir agreed exhaustedly. "But you should at least eat something and let the healer see to your wounds again."

Thranduil nodded.

"I will bring you something to eat, my Lord, and for you as well, muindor nin. I'll see to our horses now. Sel, maybe you can help. I am sure you don't want your horses left outside in that rainstorm, either." Elladan suggested in a low, soft voice.

"You are right. Let us go before the weather gets even worse." Sel nodded in agreement, took two cloaks from a nearby chair and gave one to Elladan.

After Elladan and Sel had left the room, Elrohir pulled the chair closer to the bed and dropped into it tiredly.

"Have you slept at all during the last three nights?" Thranduil interrogated, eyeing the younger elf carefully.

Elrohir shook is head and sighed. "Legolas had severe seizures and we couldn't dare to take a nap. Besides, I would have not been able to sleep, anyway." His gazed roamed over the injured elf on the bed. "You know what Legolas means to Elladan and me."

"Aye, and I could not ever be more grateful for your friendship."

_to be continued…_


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